government into a condition of chaos, is felt in a politically
vigorous and healthful commonwealth, as only a slight disturbance of
the ordinary functions. The promptness with which the village of
Stockbridge relapsed into its ordinary mode of life after the revolt
and revolution of Tuesday, was striking testimony to the soundness and
vitality which a democratic form of government and a popular sense of
responsibility impart to a body politic. On Tuesday the armed uprising
of the people had taken place; on Wednesday there was considerable
effervescence of spirits, though no violence; on Thursday there was
still a number of loutish fellows loafing about the streets, wearing,
however, an appearance of being disappointed that there was no more
excitement, and no prospect of anything special turning up. Friday and
Saturday, apparently disgusted at finding rebellion such a failure in
elements of recreation, these had gone back to their farm-work and
chores, and the village had returned to its normal quiet without even
any more serenades to the silk stockings, to enliven the evenings.

A foreigner, who had chanced to be passing through Southern Berkshire
at this time, would have deemed an informant practicing on his
credulity who should have assured him that everywhere throughout these
quiet and industrious communities, the entire governmental machinery
was prostrate, that not a local magistrate undertook to sit, not a
constable ventured to attempt an arrest, not a sheriff dared to serve
a process or make an execution, or a tax-collector distrain for taxes.
And yet such was the sober truth, for Stockbridge was in no respect
peculiarly situated, and in many of the towns around, especially in
Sheffield, Egremont, Great Barrington, and Sandisfield, an even larger
proportion of the people were open sympathizers with the rebellion
than in the former village.